Harmonic Solitude
by Little Blossom
Summary: oneshot.AtoRyo[Royal Pair] The attention he never wanted, the attention he never recieved, and the attention he couldn't see. Everything wound around him like music.


Hello. Whee! I wrote Ato/Ryo (aka Royal Pair). Thanks to Wai-aki and LBx for betaing. It's my gift for Lady Androgene.

And this is angsty. But I hope you enjoy.

**Harmonic Solitude**

Words, Atobe mused, were such fickle things. The simple task of communicating ideals, beliefs, and opinions was a powerful force. It was one that could wreck the foundations holding everything he held dear with simple sounds that were orchestrated by the mind's conductor. One could shape them with pretty and ugly lies, adding dynamics and a catchy, unforgettable rhythm. Soon the words played the composed piece on their own, following the silent orders of the mind as it pulled life from an earnest or cruel heart. Sometimes it created something meaningful, sometimes something pointless, and at times it could hide truths behind its false appearance.

Some melodies though (here a delicate winkle appeared between his brows at the thought of something he held with such animosity) he could do without. Some melodies, he didn't want to _ever_ hear.

Well-worded lyrics put together with a quick, even tempo, and a mezzo piano softness did well to soothe easily into the skin. Carefully thought out crescendos and decrescendos with striking accents incorporated into the melody worked wonders at striking him at the core. The tones would ease further into his body creating chills like a plague sweeping mercilessly through it like a rag in the wind. Repeats occurred where necessary for the initial effect to make itself known once more in another act of disdain. There were always time changes and key changes. They were always there for the blossoming build up for the final climax. His mind would always ring, his body blazing with a different kind of anger as the high notes flying throughout and over the treble clef fit that soprano role so well.

Those high notes fit that soprano voice _too _well.

Atobe would always watch that mouth as it sang that cruel melody to him, deliberately, and with the musical competence you would think only a refined professional to have.

He always wondered how those lips could move with such liquid ease, a trait he, himself possessed, but would surely stiffen and freeze should those particular notes ever appear, cold, caught, and caged in his throat.

And it was often said that he had her smile -that mouth- , beautiful and expressive.

It wasn't the only thing of hers he had. No, Atobe had her eyes, her hair, her face, her soft pale skin. Skin as soft as a girl's someone had once teased. It had been a compliment, and he had just smirked back automatically (flattery was not out of the norm for him), telling the plebeian he was simply jealous that he wasn't graced with the perfection he, himself _was_. The other snorted, and had called him vain.

It didn't matter though. Atobe was above that. He may be vain, but not overly so. With his vanity there was reason. And it was an adopted trait he carried well.

For she was just as vain, even more so as she stared down the world with her condescending gaze and unsatisfied smile. Her eyes were icy, as they always were when she spoke to him. The gleam warning him of the thin ice he'd have to cross should he ever step out of the corner she'd trapped him in.

Atobe had always resented her. She was never a mother, only a deceptively beautiful porcelain doll, with scrutinizing eyes and a biting honey voice.

"_So you won your match with Tezuka did you? He's supposed to be one of the best." She paused, her face kind with unreadable eyes. She was calculated and composed as she prepared herself for another cruel performance, this time around, for a private single audience. "The match was awfully close though, was it not? Too close for comfort. Within arms reach."_

He could hear it filling him, ghosting memories that flirted with his anger. Bringing out feelings he didn't want to feel with its high pitches calling to him with the voice of a siren.

"I also heard that he was injured at the time. Such a shame, playing a formidable opponent and winning when they're not able to perform at their full capabilities. Maybe next time you'll achieve your victory with full honours. There really is no point in beating the weak, but that couldn't be helped could it?"

He was so tired of this song. Tired all the well performed aspects of it and of the different forms it took.

In the end, they all held the same message.

She sighed sweeping back a fine lock of her hair. "Pity your school lost anyways in the end. Your win was a waste. Though I wouldn't agonize over it if I were you. There's always the rest of your life to repent."

He wasn't good enough.

"You did well against those Americans I heard. Though next time I'd like to see you play first singles. Singles is where it allows one to show off their true abilities as a man. That is of course, assuming that there is a next time."

He was never good enough for her.

"Oh, don't call me mother. It was almost sweet as a child, but with you growing up it makes me feel old. You understand don't you?"

He was never as good as the father that was never home to see him.

"Your father's _back for the night, I'm going out to meet him for dinner, before he leaves again. I trust you can entertain yourself for the time being."_

Sitting on his rich crimson couch with soft plush cushions and golden trim, listening to a soft meditative classical piece from the antique record player, reading a treasured book, none of it did anything to ease his mind. He could still hear her song encasing his heart and whispering in his mind like smoke. It drifted in a haze, taunting, with no physical form he could throttle.

He was used to being left alone to do whatever he pleased. Tonight was no different. His mother out once again to see the father he hadn't seen in months. She was most likely adoring the man she was with. He was powerful and possessed the talent that helped him delve in to gain even more power in the corporate world. It was a power that was never seen before in their lineage.

A power she didn't believe he was gifted with.

Pride, yes, he had pride. Intelligence? Surely, if his marks said anything. Charisma was a given with the way he could lead an audience with a snap of the fingers, _his_ fingers. And with the way he played tennis, no doubt his insight on situations was phenomenal.

It was nothing like that. She believed he was too soft in the heart. Too kind. Though he wouldn't associate with people unless he believed they deserved the honour, he didn't have the heart to send them plummeting down in status. He wouldn't choose a certain path if it meant hungry stomachs, and babies wailing for the comfort their guardians didn't have the time to give.

And he knew it was true. And he hated his father to some degree for being able to do so with a callous shrug of the shoulders should the consequences of his actions be unveiled. He always did know, but simply didn't care.

So he let them do as they wished. Staying away from the mother whose voice and song haunted him, and the father that always pursued wealth, placing money before his son.

Sometimes, even though he was fine with being alone…

Atobe jolted up out of his reverie as the door clicked open from behind.

Even though he preferred being alone…

"I'm fine, I don't need anything. You can go back to your duties." His tone was dull, and he waved a hand somewhere behind his head as a signal for dismissal. He wanted to be alone at the moment, but unfortunately, his butlers never failed to check up on him hourly. There were times he felt like a prisoner just by being in his own house.

Even though being alone took away the cold porcelain face of that singing doll, eyes lidded in contempt as its beautiful voice scraped his insides…

Atobe rolled his eyes in utter annoyance when didn't hear the door. "I said _you are dismissed_." His tone was sharp with an aristocratic edge, one acquired from a life of lavish ballroom dinner parties, where attitude and a silver tongue was crucial when courting the women and disputing eloquently among envious men.

Even though it took away the thought of constant neglect, since every time he saw that face he was reminded of just how long it's been, and just how much he didn't matter…

His eyebrow twitched as he felt the other's gaze evaluating him from behind. He refused to lose it in front of someone that was clearly not worth it. He was an Atobe, they don't lose their calm. They carried on in a dignified and collected matter. Never giving more than deserved, and always (it was a must) being the better and classier individual.

At least that was what he'd always been told. The fact that he was still young, growing, and going through a period of distress from the parental unit was irrelevant when it came to the family conduct.

"Are you listening to me at all?" he snapped keeping his tone refined and direct, lessons of his heritage keeping him screwed in place.

Even though he preferred being alone…

Getting no reply he could feel his mind (a very dignified mind, mind you) buckle under the weight of his current level of distress and irritation. Who was the idiot who worked for his family who would dare go against his wishes?

"I told you to leave! Are you an…" His voice died in his throat midway through head turn. Eyes wide as he took in the sight.

But lately, the loneliness had started to hurt.

"Ryoma… kun?"

Atobe received a cocky, and somewhat annoyed smirk in response. "Oi, Monkey King! What did I tell you about mistaking me for one of your animals?"

That brat! When did he get here?

Ryoma rolled his eyes, sureness oozing out of his sturdy posture. The fact that he was short seemed unimportant: his eyes took Atobe head on with a certain kind of confidence, a kind Atobe couldn't help but be entranced by.

"Don't look so shocked Monkey King. Your people know me well enough that I can waltz in without a head turn or even an eye blink."

"I thought you went out with Momoshiro for," he made a face, "that thing you like to call fast food."

Being given an inquiring look that bordered between confusion and worry, Ryoma took a couple steps in (closing the door behind him) and stared at Atobe's face long and hard.

"That was hours ago. Do you think I'm going to spend the entire night with someone as loud as him? I always come over on Saturdays anyways. Idiot."

Loosing all traces of melancholy in his appearance, Atobe rose gracefully to his feet, and faced square to the young tennis prodigy in front of him.

"Now see here you brat! You never once hinted that you'd be showing up on my doorstep tonight. _And_ you can't just very well come into someone else's house and start disrespecting them."

Ryoma levelled him with a strange stare that made Atobe wonder if Ryoma picked up his insight somewhere along the road.

"You never thought of me when you dragged me off to god knows where simply because you wanted to for no real reason. Besides," piercing cat eyes and Atobe ignored the cold feeling sweeping through him, "seeing you act so pathetic is a real turn off. I didn't come here so I could see you wallow in misery. Stop acting like some forlorn diva in a soap opera just because of your parents."

Atobe felt something deep inside him twist and snap at those words. He felt transparent under that gaze, staring at him with that scrutinizing look he knew _so well_. His eyes narrowed at the crudeness of the tone, face flushing mildly in bitter anger.

"Ore-sama should never be compared to something as pitiful as a diva from that trash! Furthermore, who do you think you are saying those things to me? Judging me as if you had the right. As if your opinions are justified and _mean _something." The words kept coming from the build up inside of him. And he could hear the music of his own tune as he bombarded the boy with his frustration.

He could hear the symbols clashing, the tone low and the tempo quick. The voice that sang that cold baritone was ragged and torn as it crassly forced its way along with the melody.

"You're below me Echizen. You need to know your proper place. Obviously, being with me over this past half year has taught you nothing. You're rude, bratty, cocky, and so very irritating at times. I don't know what I ever saw in you!"

No… this wasn't the song he wanted to be singing. This wasn't the song he ever wanted to be performing in front of him.

But as he looked at the boy in front of him, guilt eating away at him as the music died, the record finishing with a slight cackling to fill in the empty space, he noticed that Ryoma's eyes hadn't changed at all. Just as bold, and the stare just as unnerving.

"Are you done now, Keigo?" It was softer than before, but just as strong. "Are you done venting now? Though I'd rather see you angry than moping."

Atobe's eyes widened at the bluntness of the tone. And over the quiet static sound of the finished record, he swore he could hear Ryoma's own silent music. Preformed in a diminuendo that ploughed him over all the same.

"Ryoma, I…" For once he was speechless, his mind racing chaotically and his emotions digging daggers into his heart.

Ryoma sighed, and stepped forward until he was within a few feet of Atobe. "Really Monkey King, what am I going to do with you?" He smirked. "I'm tired of you always trying to bite my head off every time I touch an open wound."

Atobe glowered. "Don't touch it then!"

"Aw, you don't want me to try and kiss it better?" he teased.

Atobe huffed in response, but still glanced at the other boy's lips in want. He squelched the urge as his family mantra repeated itself in his head. "Ore-sama can deal with things without your help."

There was a strange look in Ryoma's eyes that Atobe couldn't describe. But if he didn't know any better, he'd almost think that it was sad.

"Fine, have it your way," he said dully. "I'll see you later."

"Oi, wait a second!" he called to the retreating figure. "Ore-sama didn't say you could leave."

A head turn and a tired look. "You didn't want my help, and frankly, sticking around you is depressing me."

Striding over and grabbing the boy's wrist, Atobe then dragged him back and shoved him lightly onto the couch. "And how am I depressing you? You should be thrilled by my very presence."

Golden eyes glared in annoyance, and Atobe could feel the strong diminuendo grow in the atmosphere, building up for the moment that sultry tenor voice would enter.

"I don't enjoy seeing you act like an abandoned child, consumed with loneliness, just because you have bad parents." That voice bit just like _hers _did, only not as honey sweet, and so blatantly honest.

"Not all of us have parents like yours Echizen! Caring," a pause, "even if somewhat strange." Towering over the sullen boy sitting before him, he couldn't help but feel resentment building up in him. "It depresses _you_? _You're_ not the one with a mother that acts like you're a disappointment and unworthy of existence. _You're_ not the one with a father who doesn't even act like you exist. It shouldn't depress _you_! They're my parents; the one that's hurt is _me_!"

Silence was his answer as Ryoma's expression became unreadable. His eyes glazed over, his mouth tight, his hands clenching into the fabric on his knees. The music died down again, the cracking of the record grinding into his skull.

"I see you have nothing to say to that," he sneered.

The silence was stifling. The sound of the record swallowing them.

Threatening to swallow _him_.

"It does hurt me." The tenor voice struck a cord in Atobe, the downward eyes blazing with untold emotions. "It hurts me how _stupid_ you are!" The lyrics were to the point, the melody winding with secrets.

Unclenching his pants he snapped his head up to stare pointedly at Atobe. It was a twin pair of cold golden orbs hovering from below, smouldering and haunting. "It hurts that I never seem to be enough for you!"

He wasn't good enough.

Ryoma's eyes bled with bottled frustration, the song crying in pain as Ryoma's feelings mirrored his own. "You're just as lonely and pitiful as you were since before I met you! Your pain towards your mother is _exactly_ the same"

He was never good enough for her.

"Your pain towards the father that hurts you from neglect is _just_ as bad!"

He was never as good as the father that was never home to see him.

"I was fine with being single. You were the one who came to me!" His song was in a minor key, six-eighth time. The accents cut into Atobe, the emotions flooding him with eighth notes.

Sometimes, even though he was fine with being alone…

"You were so pushy, so stubborn just to get your way! I told you no so many times!"

Even though he preferred being alone…

"I had to deal with your exhibitionist tendencies countless of time. Even though you knew how much I hated it: having all that unwanted attention brought about so much _embarrassment_!"

Even though being alone took away the cold porcelain face of that singing doll, eyes lidded in contempt as its beautiful voice scraped his insides…

"I put up with you being preoccupied with your interests for so long. When you would hardly even grace me with one game of tennis, and that was only after I did something you wanted. When I'm around you, you never lose your Holier-than-though attitude!"

Even though it took away the thought of constant neglect, since every time he saw that face he was reminded of just how long it's been, and just how much he didn't matter…

"I was perfectly fine before, without you in my life! You made me like you with your stubborn, wilful, spoiled attitude. You made me take you as my boyfriend. Even though you're perfectly aware that I'd always be fine on my own. That I liked the silence of being alone!"

Even though he preferred being alone…

He jumped to his feet, still gazing cold and hard. His eyes still the burning, glowing pair that glared animalistic. And Atobe thought, from Ryoma's slightly lower height, his eyes appeared to be in the waiting, crouching position before the predatory strike. Ryoma's mouth twisting, teeth flashing, tongue as sharp as hers… as _his_.

"But it hurts me that even after the chase, even when you finally have me as your companion, that I don't seem to be good enough to make the pain go away. That _I'm_ not _good _enough to make your loneliness recede even a _little_! That even though we're still together, we're both _still_ alone and hurting!"

But lately, the loneliness had started to hurt.

His eyes dimmed as the climax started to fade, pained and sullen. "Am I not good enough?"

Atobe blinked in horror as he saw a smaller version of himself. He saw that smaller version beseeching him with eyes exposed that were just like his. They were just as hurt, just as crudely strung, and just as lonely. Filled with tell-a-tale signs of unwanted attention, and an attention never received. He berated himself for not seeing it earlier, seeing that Ryoma was just like him.

In a flash Atobe had him hugged hard, pressed forcefully to his chest, his fingers soothing through the younger boys raven hair. "You're more than enough, Ryoma. My insight just couldn't see pass my own foolishness to truly see your worth."

"Hn." His reply was indignant, but he didn't pull away.

"My parents just frustrate me to no end. But it's your voice and your presence that make everything okay. I know that as long as I have you, I don't have to worry about being alone anymore." His voice was but a soft, affectionate whisper in Ryoma's ear. He pressed a kiss into the boy's hair and just held him possessively.

For minutes there was a comfortable silence as they held each other, the cackle of the antique family record player failing to reach their ears. Atobe traced lazy designs up and down Ryoma's spine, and Ryoma just breathed in the slight sweet floral scent of Atobe's shirt.

Then Atobe swore he heard a snicker, and he frowned at that.

"And what's so funny?"

Ryoma pulled back, mirth dancing on his face, all pretences of distress gone and topped with his classic smirk.

"You, Monkey King. Who would've thought you'd be such a sap. My dentist is going to complain of cavities in my next visit."

He frowned. "That doesn't stop you from being a cocky brat."

"Heh, anything to keep you on your toes."

"Well, Ore-sama would rather sweep you off your feet. So if you would just give me a moment."

Hearing Ryoma's voice was all he needed. With his snarky comments, and blunt like attitude, he never worried about dishonesty. The lyrics and song he created was powerful and passionate, strong but utterly loveable.

Turning the record player off with a relieved sigh, he turned to face Ryoma once again, eyes predatory and mouth curved upward.

"Ne, Ryoma-kun. We have the whole night. What do you say to accompanying Ore-sama to his large and very spacious bed?"

"Oh, I don't know." His tone not matching the amused look on his face. "I was kind of hoping you'd clean Karupin's litter box for me."

Atobe blanched at the thought of doing something as low as cleaning after another creature. Its waste no less. "Ore-sama is not amused," he stated flatly. "You should be honoured that you even get to sleep on my bed!"

"And you should be honoured I put up with you in the first place."

A light smile from one, a smirk from the other.

This was the way it was meant to be.

An amused and relieved expression crossed Atobe's face, his feet moving towards Ryoma. Grabbing and kissing him playfully, he could feel the other smirk into the kiss, heated and full of attitude as they teased and tormented. Playing to the other's weakness.

They eventually parted, Ryoma giving a final teasing lick. "So Keigo, what time did you say your parents were coming home?

Eyes darkening with want at the intended message, he gave boy wonder's bottom a suggestive squeeze. "Oh, I don't know, not for a couple of days at least. She told me that I should be able to amuse myself." Another well placed grope. "And I think she might be right for once. With your assistance of course."

"Monkey King needs my help with something? That's a first. But I think I can give you a hand… or two. Or perhaps something else." His eyes were positively wicked as he made his way towards the door.

"What has Ore-sama told you about that foul name?" Atobe scowled momentary before grinning. "But other than that, you do have a way with words Ryoma-kun. Ore-sama looks forward to your _help_."

"Do you?"

"Yes, but words won't save you when I'm through with you."

"No," Ryoma agreed. "But I sure love hearing you beg."

Atobe's face screwed up slightly at the thought of him performing such a degrading act. "Ore-sama does not bag. Ore-sama gives orders." All the same, he couldn't help keep the warmth from flooding into his body from just hearing that voice.

Ryoma's chuckle sounding like music to Atobe's ears. "We'll see. Now come on before I grow old like you."

"Che. Though your manners could use some work."

He took Ryoma's hand in his own as he started to lead the smaller boy to the bedroom.

Atobe smiled lightly in amusement, Ryoma grinned a cocky smirk at the other.

Yes, this was the way it was meant to be. With their laughter and quiet moans heard only by the night, creating a beautiful, touching song to reverberate somewhere between death and eternity.

end

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Criticism, reviews, flames? Thoughts are always nice. 


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